


In a Hole in the Ground, There Lived a Hobbit

by Aquila_Star



Series: Powers of Persuasion [26]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, F/M, Feels, I recognise that tree, M/M, family love, we've been here before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6873835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Springtime in the Shire is beyond compare. But Bilbo can't keep his mind in the present, and Drogo is starting to wonder how long they can go on like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Hole in the Ground, There Lived a Hobbit

Bilbo woke up in a warm, comfortable bed, with a smattering of sunlight dappling his face. He breathed deeply and stretched his stuff muscles. He had a moment of disorientation, wondering where he was...very few beds on the road were so lovely. He opened his eyes, memories rushing over him as he saw familiar furnishings, and he sat up, looking around.

He was home.

And from the amount of light that filled the room, he'd had quite a lie in. He felt...he wasn't sure how he felt. He was comfortable and well rested, the familiarity of Bag End was a balm on his heart and nerves, and yet it felt like a piece of him was missing.

He heard the whistle of a kettle and the clatter of dishes, and thought that it must be food he was missing. His appetite had taken a hit while travelling, but now he was home and it was back in full force.

Drogo hadn't prepared much for dinner the previous night, but while Bilbo had been bathing, he'd put together a relative feast, and they had dined well, nibbling into the night as they shared gossip and travel tales beside the fire.

Bilbo found himself very grateful to have found Drogo at Bag End. He'd missed his cousin while on the road, and the company took the edge off the loneliness that Bilbo had been feeling, especially since they'd left Rivendell. Having Drogo around was an un-looked for blessing.

Bilbo pulled himself out of bed and put on his robe, which was something else he had missed greatly, although it would not have been a terribly practical have on a long trip. It was warm and cozy, and it made him very glad to be home. He padded to the bathroom before joining Drogo in the kitchen. The smell of frying bacon washed over him, making his stomach rumble.

Drogo laughed, grinning widely at him. “I take it you're hungry? You've been deprived of regular meals for so long, we'll have to get you fed up again, won't we?”

“I must have lost half my body weight while I was away,” Bilbo replied, grinning back.

“You seem to have gained quite a bit of muscle, though. You are lean but you don't look at all unhealthy. Quite the opposite.”

“Why thank you, Drogo,” Bilbo said, sliding onto the bench and pouring himself a cup of tea. “I feel like a completely different Hobbit, I admit. Gandalf warned me that I would not be the same, but I don't think I had any idea just how profound the change would be.”

“You are much more stern now,” Drogo commented. “I don't mean that in the way it sounds...you are also more prone to laugh.”

“The Dwarves are fond of a good joke,” Bilbo told him. “And pranks. And limericks. They tease each other mercilessly, but no one really takes it seriously. They have a great ability to laugh at themselves.”

“That is a trait that that most Hobbits lack.”

“Do they ever,” Bilbo said, rolling his eyes. “Some have even less than others.”

He took the well filled plate from Drogo and tucked right in. They ate in silence, Bilbo wondering if what he'd really missed about the Shire was the food.

“Speaking of humourless harpies,” Bilbo said casually, earning a snort from Drogo.

“What about Lobelia?” he asked, and Bilbo laughed outright.

“Ahh, Drogo, I have missed you,” Bilbo said. “Seriously, though, Holman told me that Lobelia was trying to have me declared dead so she could have Bag End.”

“She is. In fact, she started making noises about it at the end of May last year, but the Thain wouldn't hear of it. She picked it up again at the beginning of September, but she was put off again. Why she thinks getting your grandfather to abandon you is going to work, I have no idea. After that, she tried to bully Holman into letting her in, but he flatly refused.”

“Ugh,” Bilbo groaned, rolling his eyes again. “Lobelia is such a piece of work. She just can't accept that she'll never have Bag End. Ever.”

“Once she realised that she wasn't going to get anywhere with Gerontius or Holman she put up a stink with the Mayor, demanding that the matter be dealt with before Yule. That was around the same time that she found out that I'd been staying here.”

“That could not have been a good thing.”

“Definitely not,” Drogo confirmed. “She was irate, insisting that you would be furious at the gall I showed by daring to stay in your smial while you were gone. Never mind that she was trying to steal it right out from under you. Mr Worrywort had heard you say you were going on an adventure, so we knew that you'd be gone a while. It was repulsive of her to act that way, and everyone was quite disgusted with her behaviour.”

“I can't imagine that many were surprised. If they were, they don't know her very well.”

“Indeed!”

“Drogo, I hope you know that I have absolutely no qualms about you staying here while I was gone. There is a reason I gave you a key, after all. I trust you implicitly, I hope you know that.”

“Thank you Bilbo, I appreciate that. Truthfully, I was sure you wouldn't mind. You've never turned me away from your door, unlike others I might mention.”

“You've never given me a reason to.” 

“And I never will.”

 

* * *

 

“So Holman was telling me that you and Prim are getting married on Midsummer's Day,” Bilbo said casually, as they were preparing their lunch.

“Oh,” Drogo said. “You've distracted me with all your stories, I can't believe I've forgotten to tell you.”

“I can't believe it either,” Bilbo said, chuckling at Drogo's stricken look. “You've only been in love with her since you were tweens.”

Drogo beamed. “It's always been Prim, I've never kept that a secret. Thankfully, she's decided that she loves me back, so I intend to marry her before she changes her mind.”

“A good idea,” Bilbo agreed.

“We've been thinking about finding a place in Hobbiton, instead of living with her family in Buckland. She's very frustrated with her mother and her interference.”

“Is Aunt Mirabella giving her a hard time?” Bilbo asked. “What about?” he continued, when Drogo nodded in confirmation. “Surely she doesn't disprove of you?”

“She's never come out and said it, but I'm sure she'd rather see Prim married to another Brandybuck, or better yet, a Took, instead of some stuffy Baggins.”

“Please,” Bilbo scoffed. “There's enough Took in that line of Brandybucks to make up for any amount of stuffy Baggins. Has Mirabella forgotten that she is a Took?”

“Exactly!” Drogo exclaimed as they shared a hearty chuckle. 

“We're getting married here,” Drogo said. “Prim has been staying with her sister Asphodel. She's a lot less...annoying, when it comes to such things.”

“Ahh, yes. She married Rufus Burrows, didn't she? A very respectable family, the Burrows.”

“Exactly. Mirabella is not fond of them, either.”

“I don't think she's fond of anyone,” Bilbo commented with a snort. “How that woman is related to my mother, I don't know. I remember them getting into a row about it one time. Mirabella disliked my father and disproved of her little sister marrying him. I couldn't figure out why at the time, I was barely a tween, but I'm certain she didn't want to see her adventurous little sister wasted on poor old respectable Bungo Baggins.”

“And yet, she's spoken disdainfully about Belladonna's adventures, and even more of yours,” Drogo said. 

“I'm sure Aunt Mirabella is just upset that she lost her sister to a Baggins, and now she's losing her youngest daughter to one as well.”

“And after losing her eldest daughter to a Burrows!”

“I'm sure Mirabella doesn't know just what it is she disapproves of, so she'll just disapprove of anything so as not to miss out. Oh, Eru,” Bilbo said, his hands stilling as he had a ladle of soup halfway to a bowl. Drogo slipped the bowl closer, to catch the drips, shocking Bilbo out of his stupor.

“What?”

“She's Lobelia.”

“Come again?” Drogo asked, confused. 

“Or rather, Lobelia is Mirabella. She's the Lobelia of our parent's generation.”

The two looked at each other in stunned silence and then threw back their heads with uproarious laughter. Bilbo had to put down his ladle, and Drogo was slumped over on the bench, holding his sides, trying to stop himself from laughing.

“Just imagine what they would think if we told them...” Drogo said, between gasps for breath. “Mira...bella, she hates Baggins'...”

“And Sackvilles!”

“And Lobelia hates Brandybucks...”

“And Tooks!” they exclaimed together, prompting a fresh round of laughing that ended up with Bilbo clutching the counter to keep himself upright, with Drogo all the way on the floor. 

By the time they got to their lunch, the soup had cooled, and needed warming up. They were still chuckling to themselves as they shared a basket of rolls for dipping. 

“I can't wait to tell Prim and Dellie,” Drogo said. “They'll have a good laugh, as well.”

“Speaking of the sisters Brandybuck, has Amaranth looked like settling down at all?” Bilbo asked. He thought that perhaps she could marry a Took and distract her mother from Primula's soon to be husband and his unfortunate respectability.

“Not likely,” Drogo said. “She's far too hard headed to settle down.”

“She's quite a bit like her mother, isn't she?” They shared a smile, and Bilbo chuckled a little more, a vision coming into his head of his Aunt Mirabella wearing one of Lobelia's ugly, overdone hats. 

“Perhaps there will be less objecting now,” Drogo commented.

“Oh?”

“Now that you've tarnished the the Baggins name by returning from an adventure with a chest full of gold.”

“Yes, the Tooks do rather approve of such things, don't they?” Bilbo said, still chuckling. 

“Tacitly, anyway.”

“Well, I'm always happy to help,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “And on that note, perhaps you and Prim will think about coming to live here.”

“Here?” Drogo asked, confused. 

“Yes. After the wedding?”

“Bilbo! That would hardly be fair to you! We know how much you value your peace and quiet.”

“Oh tosh,” Bilbo scoffed. “I've spent the last year with a group of rowdy Dwarves and all manner of loud, obnoxious people. You and Prim will hardly be disruptive.”

“We are planning to have children,” Drogo insisted. 

“Yes, you and every other couple in the Shire,” Bilbo said. “I welcome it. I like children a great deal more than I like adults, however noisy they are. I believe they will remind me greatly of my Dwarves.”

“Well, I'll have to talk to Primula, but...thank you Bilbo,” Drogo agreed. 

“On that note, you should just stay here until the wedding.”

“I'd be glad to stay, as long as Prim stays with her sister.”

“So you'll stay?”

“Yes, I believe I will,” Drogo said, smiling as he pulled a chunk from another bun. They finished their lunch in companionable silence, both pleased to be in the presence of the other. 

“Will you ever get married?” Drogo asked suddenly, making Bilbo look up at him in surprise.

“Me?” he asked. “Oh, no. I'm...not disposed to marry.”

Drogo nodded in understanding. “Still not feeling inclined toward the lasses, then?”

“Not a such,” Bilbo admitted. “And I'm not likely to. Definitely not since...” Drogo waited attentively, but Bilbo was silent. 

“Not since what?” he prompted, when it became apparent that Bilbo was not going to continue. 

Bilbo thought for a moment before speaking, his voice taking on a serious tone.

“You remember how I told you that Thorin and I had been close...from the start of our Quest?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we were...very close.” Bilbo admitted, looking down into his now empty soup bowl.

“How clo...oh,” Drogo said, realising just what Bilbo was implying. “A Dwarf? Really?”

“Yes, well...Thorin is an exceptionally handsome, impressive Dwarf,” Bilbo said, his cheeks heating with the memory of Thorin's eyes and hands on him. 

“Wait...Thorin?” Drogo said, his brow furrowed. “Isn't Thorin the King?”

“Um...yes,” Bilbo said, flushing even darker. “Yes, he is.”

“Bilbo,” Drogo said with a smirk. “Well done.”

“Please,” Bilbo said, getting up from the table with his bowl and Drogo's, stalking to the sink and stacking them beside it. 

“You're blushing,” his ungrateful fiend of a cousin pointed out.

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

“It's nothing,” Bilbo insisted. 

“Why did you come back, then?” Drogo asked. “If you'd found such a love? You speak of him with such warmth and enthusiasm, and now to hear that you were lovers. I'm glad you're back, but...I don't understand why you bothered.”

“Because I wasn't in love,” Bilbo said listlessly, his stomach clenching. 

“Was he?”

“He...um, yes,” Bilbo said, staring avidly into the sink.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Drogo said, clearly impressed. “Dashing off on an adventure with a group of rowdy Dwarves, battling Orcs and Trolls and dragons, and getting a Dwarf King to fall in love with you? What a story to tell! You'll go down in history.”

“I'll not be speaking of that last part, Drogo, and neither will you.” Bilbo said, turning to glare mildly at his cousin. “You know that such relationships are not approved of in the Shire.”

“I know. I won't say a word, I swear,” Drogo promised. “Except perhaps to Prim.”

“But not Dellie,” Bilbo snapped. “That woman has quite a tongue on her. Half the Shire would know by dinner time.”

“I promise,” Drogo said seriously, holding his hand over his heart.

 

* * *

 

They fell into a rhythm, one that included Prim most of the time, to Drogo's delight. She had rarely visited Bag End before Bilbo came home, mostly because dealing with an overbearing mother was hard enough without throwing rumours about that they had spent much time unchaperoned and behind a closed door. Hobbits were not religious about such strictures, but they were devout enough that there would have been much gossip. So, Drogo had spent most of his time with Prim and her sister, instead.

With Bilbo back, that changed, much to Drogo's pleasure. Bag End was lovely and large, and Bilbo was fine company, mostly. Both of them were eager to hear as many stories as they could convince him to tell. Primula had agreed to come live with them, after the wedding, which made Bilbo terribly happy, for a little while. 

But Drogo had noticed that he didn't stay happy. He never stayed happy for long. He threw himself into his gardening with such furor that poor Holman had almost nothing to do, though Bilbo still paid him as much as ever. He also locked himself in his study with his red leather book often, only being tempted out for meals or tea, but even then, Drogo found he was often in an uncommunicative mood, preferring to eat silently and then retreat once more. 

Other times he was very happy. It was rather over the top on such days, and Drogo couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't trying too hard. He was chatty and energetic and baked up a storm, often going to the market more than once a day for ingredients. On that kind of day, he would chat excitedly with Holman about his plans for the garden, and with Prim about her plans for the wedding. 

Drogo learned, as much as he'd like to hear them, not to ask Bilbo for any more stories of his adventure. Inevitably, such enquiries would turn him introspective again. He would tell the stories, with Prim and Drogo eager to hear them, but always the next day would find him in a dark mood once more, melancholy and irritable.

He went on long walks, sometimes for more than one day at a time, and often sat on the front bench smoking his pipe with a frown, his mind clearly elsewhere. Times like that, Drogo couldn’t get more than a word or two out of him. Sometimes it would last for a week or two, and sometimes for days. There was no telling how long the ups would be, nor how long the downs. 

Drogo was feeling dizzy. He had begun to have serious suspicions about the nature of Bilbo's relationship with Thorin. He spoke of the Dwarf King less than he did the rest, and yet, when he finally did, it was with a stark, longing tone that spoke of more than the mild affection Bilbo insisted he felt for his former lover. 

Spring turned into summer, coming upon them faster than Drogo was prepared for. It was all slipping by so fast, and yet he was eager to get on with it, as his and Primula's wedding fast approached. 

'The Shire is as lush as ever,' Drogo thought one morning in early June, as he stood on the front stoop, looking out over the party field, the Green Dragon and the bustling marketplace across the glimmering water. The view was outstanding. He knew exactly why his Uncle Bungo had chosen to build Bag End here. There was even space remaining in the Hill, for expansion. 

He was glad to live here with Bilbo, and even happier that Prim would be joining them soon. Uncle Bungo and Aunt Belladonna had only had the one child, in the end, and Bilbo would not be having any...he hoped that he and Prim could fill the smial with the joyful noises of a half dozen lovely fauntlings. 

In the meantime, Drogo's thoughts were turned into the hole behind him, to Bilbo's ever unpredictable moods. He never got mean or vicious, it simply wasn't in Bilbo's nature to act in such a way, but it was clear that he was not happy. For the last several days he had been up early, laughing and joking with Drogo and Prim, baking a batch of cherry scones, or muffins with fresh blueberries or a beautiful apple cake with the last of the previous harvest's apples. 

They ate really well when Bilbo was in a good mood. When he was not, Drogo had to do the baking himself, and although he enjoyed it, he wasn't as good at it as Bilbo, and usually ended up buying his pastries and cakes. 

“Morning, Drogo,” Bilbo said as he came out of the green door. 

“Morning, Bilbo,” Drogo replied, his thoughts disrupted. He smiled at his cousin, happy that he seemed to be in a good mood still, and wondering how long it would last. He knew they could not go on like this, that Bilbo would never be happy in the Shire now, not since he'd gone east with his Dwarves. The experience had changed him irrevocably. Drogo mourned the fact that in order for Bilbo to be happy, the Shire would lose him. 

Drogo would lose him. 

And yet, he wanted Bilbo to be happy. The ups and downs of the past few months could only end in sorrow, if Drogo couldn't find a way to wake Bilbo out of his self imposed tunnel vision. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” Drogo asked his cousin carefully. “You were up late last night, I noticed.”

“Yes, I found that my study was far too messy to find anything I needed, and thought I'd better clean it up before I could write anything else,” Bilbo replied, tamping down the leaf in his pipe. “Come have a smoke with me?”

“Certainly,” Drogo said. “Although I'll have to fetch my pipe.”

“Pfft,” Bilbo scoffed, grabbing Drogo's wrist and pulling him down the steps toward his favourite bench. “We'll share. We both smoke too much anyway, according to your Prim.”

“Indeed,” Drogo agreed with a laugh, sitting beside Bilbo on the bench and enjoying the view from a different perspective. “Though don't be fooled. She loves a smoke herself, now and then.”

“I've noticed,” Bilbo said, taking a long pull on the pipe and passing it to Drogo. He blew out a few perfectly shaped smoke rings, a skill that Drogo had not the patience to cultivate, himself. Bilbo was exceptional at it. 

They smoked the rest of the pipe in silence, and Drogo felt utterly contented, sure that this would be another fine day in the Shire. June was passing, soon it would be Midsummer's day and his wedding. It could not come fast enough. 

He passed the pipe back to Bilbo after smoking the last, a soppy smile spreading across his face as he thought of Prim in a flowing flowery dress, her hair adorned with ribbons and the colourful flowers for which she was named. He was truly the luckiest Hobbit in the Shire.

He turned to ask Bilbo if he fancied a trip to the market, hoping they'd run into Prim and Dellie shopping for some last minute wedding related items. They hadn't been spending as much time together, as the wedding drew near. He knew that would change soon enough, but not soon enough for him.

What he saw made the contentment slip away from him, as quickly as the smile had slipped from Bilbo's face. He was frowning at his pipe, lost in contemplation. Perhaps it wouldn't be a sunny day after all. Not inside Bag End, at least. 

“Bilbo?” he asked, unsure if he should press or leave him be.

“Hmm?”

“You look very serious, suddenly. What are you thinking of?” Apparently, he was going to press it. Just a little, though. He was at a loss as to how to press Bilbo in the right way to make him see how unhappy he was, so he tried to bring out Bilbo's memories of his Dwarves whenever he had a moment like this, a slice of time between the cheerful moods and the melancholy ones. 

“I'm...remembering another time I shared a pipe with a friend. In Rivendell, I shared a pipe with Bofur after Thorin had thrown me out of our room. It was soothing, but I was so torn up that day. Thorin possessed some wicked mood swings back then.”

Drogo held himself back from scoffing. It sounded a lot like Bilbo at the moment. 

“Why do you suppose that is?” Drogo asked.

“He was in denial, he'd said.”

“Oh?”

“Afterwards, he'd told me that pretending that the didn't...care about me was making him ornery. I laughed at the time...he was always ornery, but he became less so when he stopped pretending.”

“Did he now?” The similarities were staggering. Bilbo was quiet, so Drogo decided to abandon his line of questioning. He didn't want to push too far, all at once, though something would have to give, soon. They sat in the quiet for a while, until Bilbo stood with a huff, tapping his pipe out on the fence post, watching as the ash fluttered away in the morning breeze. 

“I think I'll write for a while,” he said, turning and heading back into the smial, the line of his shoulders tense and burdened. 

Drogo knew he'd be going to the market alone. It was unlikely that Bilbo would leave the study until long after nightfall.

 

* * *

 

“What's that?” Drogo asked as he padded into the kitchen for breakfast the next morning. “And why isn't there tea on?” He fumbled to the stove, picking up the kettle and noticing that it was full, although the water was no longer hot. He put it over the heat to boil, and turned, heading to the pantry to find the cinnamon raisin scones that Bilbo had baked the day before. 

Bilbo still hadn't moved when Drogo returned, staring at the parchment in his hands, his knuckles white with tension. 

“Bilbo?” he asked, setting the plate of scones on the table and grabbing a knife and the butter. 

“It's a letter,” Bilbo said, looking at it as if it would explode in his hands. 

“Well, that's hardly unusual,” Drogo remarked. 

“It came by raven,” Bilbo added, looking up at Drogo in stunned amazement.

“A raven? That's unusual. Who is it from?” Drogo asked around his mouthful of scone.

“It's from Erebor,” Bilbo replied. “From Balin.” He held the letter in clenched fingers, tight enough that Drogo feared he would rip it. He'd already scrunched deep creases into the fine looking parchment. 

“Not good news, I take it?” The kettle began to whistle, so Drogo popped the last of his second scone into his mouth and got up to pour the tea. Bilbo still hadn't moved, and he was starting to become concerned. 

“I...don't know. It seems both Fili and Kili are courting, though neither of them is settling down with another of their race.”

“That's also unusual, isn't it? But still, a happy thing,” Drogo said, blushing a little, thinking of his own relationship with Prim. The wedding was less than a week away, and he could not be more excited about the prospect. Only Bilbo's melancholy had put a damper on his enthusiasm. He was concerned about his cousin's changeable moods. Bilbo had always been a steady, mellow Hobbit, before he'd gone off east with the Dwarves. 

“Happy for them, yes. Tauriel, that's Kili's intended, is an Elf of Mirkwood, and she is a rather exceptional one, I have to say. And Fili's love is Sigrid, she's the eldest daughter of Bard.”

“He's the King of Dale, yes?” Drogo asked, straining to keep all the names organized in his head. 

“He will be yes, or perhaps he is already, so much time has passed. I'm sure Dale is well into the rebuilding efforts by now,” Bilbo replied almost absentmindedly, his focus clearly split, the confusion on his face very evident.

“What else, then? You don't look very happy.”

“I...I'm confused,” Bilbo said, staring at the parchment once more, brows drawn in a deep frown. “Balin says that Thorin is negotiating a political marriage. To alleviate the pressures on Fili to produce a worthy heir.”

Drogo winced, although he tried to keep it off his face. On the other hand, this might be just what was needed to wake Bilbo up. 

“And that's not a good thing? Sounds noble to me, although fathering an heir wouldn't be a sacrifice, in my opinion. But, you don't think it's good news?”

“I...no. I don't know,” Bilbo said, and Drogo noted that he seemed to be stumbling over his words, as if he couldn’t quite parse his own thoughts. 

“Is it good news to hear that the person you'd spent the better part of a year with, whose friendship means everything to you...who you built up a relationship with...is going to marry someone else?”

“Isn't it?” Drogo prompted, the sleep clearing completely from his brain as he prepared a cup of tea for himself, and one for Bilbo. It appeared that his suspicions were proving correct. Bilbo cared a great deal more for Thorin, much more, than he'd been willing to admit. Drogo was convinced, based on his reaction to the letter, that Bilbo was in love with Thorin. The hard part was convincing Bilbo of that fact.

“Isn't it good that he's getting married? After all, you ended your relationship when you came home. Didn't you?” Drogo set Bilbo's tea in front of him and picked up his own, watching Bilbo carefully over the rim as he took a sip. 

“Yes, but...you don't understand, Drogo,” Bilbo said, putting the letter down and smoothing it against the table. 

“No, I don't,” Drogo replied. “If you didn't want to be with him, then why begrudge him the love of another?”

“Because he promised that he loved me!” Bilbo said, pushing away from the table with such force that his tea cup rattled, slopping some of its contents onto the table. Drogo watched him stalk to the little window above the sink that overlooked the Row, his shoulders tense. 

“Well, then perhaps you should write him a letter explaining your thoughts?” Drogo knew that he would have to tread lightly here, but Bilbo was acting like a fool, all his introspection spent on others, on histories and tales, but it seemed he couldn't use those same powers of observation to unravel his own heart.

“No, Drogo, don't be absurd,” Bilbo said, scoffing, moving away from the window to pace the small room, waving his hands about in rough gestures that made plain his discomfiture. “How would that letter even go? Dear Thorin, King of Erebor. Greetings from the Shire. I've heard that you plan on settling down and getting married, and I demand to know how you can abide such a proposal, when not half a year ago, you had sworn your undying love to me. I must insist that you break off any such engagement or contract. You simply cannot marry someone else because...”

He stopped and stood as still as a statue, his face the picture of revelation, evidence of a great truth spreading across it.

'Now I've got him,' Drogo thought, prompting Bilbo one last time. “Because?”

“Because...I love you. I love, I...I love him.”

Bilbo turned to look at Drogo, his eyes wide with astonishment. 

“How could I have missed...why did I...” he paused, closing his mouth with a click and staring at Drogo with desperate eyes. 

“What am I doing here?” he asked, and Drogo could not give him an answer. He didn't think that Bilbo needed one, at any rate. He was correct, as Bilbo continued on without any input from Drogo.

“What am I doing here, Drogo? Why did I leave him? How could I not have seen?” he stopped speaking, leaning on the table, resting his shaky hands on the sturdy wood planks. 

Drogo knew what was coming. It was the only thing, really, that would ensure Bilbo's happiness, and that mattered to Drogo more than anything except his Prim. He would miss the cousin who had become his best friend, but Bag End was not where Bilbo belonged anymore. He belonged with a Dwarven King, far to the east, who, if Drogo was any judge of character, was even now missing Bilbo desperately. 

Bilbo looked up at last, his jaw set, leaving Drogo was struck by a bittersweet joy. 

“I'm going back,” he said, his eyes alight with a fire that Drogo had not seen since before he'd left. 

Bilbo was alive again, and Drogo knew that he would pull down the very stars themselves, if that's what it took to get back to his Dwarf. 

 

* * *

 

'It is a lovely, fine day for travelling,' Bilbo thought to himself cheerfully as he double checked his cart and the pony, whom he had promptly named Marigold, to make sure everything was ready. Primula and Drogo had been married the day before, and Bilbo had spent the entire affair in the best of moods, a much better mood than he'd been in lately. 

It had been a week since he'd received the letter from Balin that had changed everything.

He'd realised, now that his head was clear and his own feelings were revealed to him, that he'd been as ornery and unpredictable as Thorin had been before admitting his own feelings, and Drogo had confirmed it. Bilbo shook his head, wondering how he could have been so blind for so long. If only he'd figured it out earlier, he could have saved himself a lot of travelling.

Dwarves clearly did not have the market on stubborn hardheadedness cornered. That, or they had rubbed off on Bilbo during their time together. 

And now he was going back. Going home. For he had come to accept that he would never be home, unless Thorin was with him. He only hoped that he wasn't too late. 

“All set?” Drogo asked, his bright grin matched by the one worn by his new wife, who stood beside him, their fingers entwined. 

“Yes, I think so. I've walked through the smial more than once, so I think I'm ready.”

“I still can't believe you're going back,” Prim said, letting go of Drogo to hug Bilbo tightly. “We'll miss you.”

“And I will miss you as well, Mrs. Baggins,” he said with a smirk, chuckling at the blush that bloomed across Primula's cheeks.

“Oh, stop,” she said, her eyes bright but filled with moisture. “Take care of yourself, Bilbo.”

“I will,” he said. “I'm going home at long last, Prim. I'll be fine as soon as I can get there.”

“Don't forget about us once you're won back your Dwarf,” Drogo said, tugging Prim back and taking her place, embracing Bilbo heartily. “Send us letters, and let us know how things are going.”

“Only if you promise to do the same. I will send a raven as often as I can,” he replied, looking at them both with teary eyes. “I'll want to know how the baby making is progressing.” Both his cousins blushed fiercely at that, still caught in the first flushes of wedded bliss. 

“I still can't believe you've left us Bag End,” Prim said, wiping away a tear.

“It's an ideal wedding present. As if I could bear to part with it to anyone else. Besides, you both have a claim on it, Prim, with you being my first cousin and Drogo a second. Much more of a claim than Otho and Lobelia,” he said, making a face that had both his cousins laughing. 

“Besides, there's always been a Baggins living here, under the Hill, at Bag End. And now, there always will be.”

“We thought, if we have a boy, we'll name him Frodo,” Drogo said, beaming widely. 

“A wonderful name!” Bilbo exclaimed. “Frodo Baggins. I hope to hear news of him soon.” 

He hugged his cousins one more time, taking a long look up at his childhood home, the round, green door, the lovely garden, the beautiful oak that draped over the Hill. He had such lovely, wonderful memories there, but it was time to let it go. Everything had changed when a ragtag group of Dwarves had invaded it that night over a year ago. They had changed him for good. And now he was going back to them. Back to Thorin. 

He smiled, climbing up onto the cart and taking the reins in hand, settling the bundle of baked goods that Holman had gifted him with that morning, and turned to wave, one last time, at his cousins, his home, at his life in the Shire. He realised that this had been a long time in coming, that it had been inevitable the first time he'd looked into Thorin's beautiful blue eyes, the first time they'd kissed, the first touch of their skin. The first time he'd heard Thorin's voice raised in song. The first time Thorin had called him amralime, had said that he loved him. 

He'd put this off for far too long. It was time to go home.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, that was fast. So, I had a good portion of this written already, and once I'd finished the rest, I figured, why wait? I'm eager to get it done, and I don't want to leave you waiting too long. 
> 
> Oh, and I pictured Bilbo's face when the reality at hit him looking the way it did when he'd realised that the Dwarves were gone and why hadn't he gone with them. Martin Freeman has the best expressions, ever.
> 
> The next chapter will be the last. It will be longer and although I've got the majority of it written already, it may take another day or two to get the rest complete. This is the second time I've written more than 100,000 words in a month, I can't believe it! When the bunny bites, it bites hard. 
> 
> Enjoy the penultimate chapter! Finale to come soon!


End file.
